Life on rand()

Cookery in the works

2011-10-13T01:10:00.000-07:00

I've been silently Master Planning over here (more playing catch up with said plans, actually) and enjoying many nibbles of delicious dairy products at my new place of work, Calf & Kid. I'm absolutely loving it and the ladies and gentleman I monger with. And even though we're such a tiny shop and will no doubt be heavily bombarded during the coming holiday seasons (only the shop's second year of such traffic!), I must say I just can't wait to experience it.

For the more immediate future, I'm hoping to have a food blog up by the weekend. A friend of mine convinced me. Or rather, he reminded me: "Why don't you have a food blog?"

The idea had always been floating around. I think it was just one of those things that seemed so obvious—and if you know me, you know that I tend to stubbornly, and often foolishly, avoid even attempting those opportunities that would come easiest to me.

So this is me finally slapping my hand and saying, "Stop that."

Dialogue

2011-06-12T17:10:00.000-07:00

Me: Hey Life, how's it going?

Life: Things are happening.

Me: Well that's a bit curt. Don't you think?

Life: Who are you?

Me: It's me, Wendy. Same old, same old, remember?

Life: You are not the same or old.

Me: Always so literal, you.

Life: Literal: free from exaggeration or distortion; without allegory; absolute-

Me: Exactly.

Life: I suppose you can call me this. But you are not what you say you are.

Me: Well what would you call me? Isn't this all transient? The impression I'd gathered thus far was that change is the only constant.

Life: Then what shall I say?

Me: I don't know, usually we tend to form conclusions about the things that concern us and which things we concern ourselves with. Otherwise, how do we go on?

Life: The We, the Us, the Self, the Other. I feel you tire of these separations.

Me: Well-

Life: You said change is the only constant.

Me: Well why don't you tell me what I am.

Life: You are insane if you think this works.

What I've been working on

2011-01-17T22:49:00.000-08:00

For the last week I've been working on art stuffs, exploring my styles, understanding erroneous and successful technique along the way. Here are a few of my results.

A work in progress. Doodle with calligraphy ink on drawing card stock.

Poppies. First finished canvas with acrylic, copper leafing, and calligraphy ink.

Mountain vista. Watercolour on sketch paper.

Do let me know whatcha think. Any feedback is appreciated!

If Things Were Like My Brain...

2011-01-14T02:42:00.000-08:00

I would be Boss Nova, mad vocalist and Casio harmonizer in a psychofunkabilly band called Nightmare Bear. But even sounding so ruthless, our music would be like if Devo and Reverend Horton Heat ate a buffet of Isaac Hayes. We'd wear undergarments made of goose feathers, and I would have the most kickass stage footwear, like go-go rollerskate-boots and those tennis shoes we had when we were kids that blink when you step. And I would be dating Steve Martin, Patrick Stewart, and Jeff Goldblum at the same time.

*Sigh* And I dream.

Full of Todays

2011-01-08T17:04:00.000-08:00

I've always been a 'busy body' (not to be confused with "busybody"), active and energetic, prone to laugh fits. Also quite anxious and easily taken by cabin fever. Which is why I've started crafting again. Sewing, in particular, is one of the very few things I know of that I can focus on effortlessly, and that actually relaxes me. I don't know why exactly. Perhaps because it was one of those activities I learnt I could do at home and not be bothered, like drawing or reading. Or because I've always preferred manual activities that allowed me to build or design something. Like a blank canvas for my imagination to explore and shape, unravel and piece together in my own way.

But, still out of a job, and without monetary means to make much more progress on crafts, I'm left with monotony--the state in which days blur together, undistinguished by happenings, weeks vaguely strung along by one's basic understanding of how time works. My mental calendar would look like a blank page with some rudimentary visual structure that would imply a grid, lines missing and shifted.

When this happens, it's very easy to fixate on things one shouldn't fixate on, and get caught up in little dramas in your head. That's pretty much what my Todays have been like.

When I came back from India, I relayed to a friend who inquired about how I was doing, that my brain felt like a very dark place with something wild scratching and pacing around inside. That something hasn't died yet, and though it's weaker now than it was, I worry sometimes that I'm secretly keeping it alive. People hold onto what's known to them, and I know a lot of horrific things now. When I was younger and in hard times, I remember I used to tell myself to suck it up and just deal. "So many people have it worse," I would say. But at least I had lived those hard times; it was familiar to me, and I'd understood how to cope. It's a very different story when you see and hear and feel things that you realise you've never truly known, and then must find some human way of taking it all in, rebuilding yourself, and unveiling that to the people you've known, the job you've had, the world you've been living in.

Ah well. Gotta keep on keepin' on somehow 'til I figure it out.

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted - Jimmy Ruffin

2009-12-13T00:40:00.000-08:00

I found this picture tagged on Facebook from a friend's visit to the zoo and misread the signage. Removed from context, it inspired in me a variety of fictitious and comedic scenarios...

FEATURE
Incentivized leisure is U.S.'s ticket out

Visitors and employees alike enjoy membership perks offered to combat the erroneous financial conservation spurred by recession. (Woodland Park Zoo, Seattle, WA.)

SEATTLE, Wa.--In our economic crisis, many Americans are being forced to trim their leisure expenditures. But recent fiscal analysis shows a direct correlation between domestic market simulus and propensity of money squandering.

Animal lovers in particular have proven a consistent indicator of overall growth. (Beinder-Woopie, 2008) One incentive for visitors of Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo this holiday season includes a complimentary bird with each zoo membership. The sign, however, warns one to "Please be careful where you step birds on ground" (see above), though it is a bit misleading; Woodland advises its members to be careful where on the ground they step their birds, as one could mistakenly trip into a pothole* (not shown). Thankfully sanitary wipes are kept on-hand should bird-stepping become too messy. Zoo employees encourage bird-stepping further from entrances and exits to ease congestion. Bird salvaging is not recommended.

*It may be noted here that "potholes" in the context of zoos actually refer to strategically placed boobie traps, camouflaged for the very small animals that attempt escape.

Wartimes much?

2009-11-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

It may look different from the sort we're familiar with, the kind we teach our kids in class and visit at museums or heritage sites, but can anyone deny our time as one of war? Because I'd like to see better evidence of the experience than something so domestic, so casual, as the creation of militaristic and political "moe anthro" comics (unequivocably NSFW). The latter term refers to the personification of inanimate objects or concepts as "moe," the Japanese word for "budding" but which, in the context of genre and Japanese slang, generally refers to cute things with specific traits.

You know an era has truly made history when they start producing media designed around characters that represent actual, known countries relying on dialogues of stereotyped international relations and current policymaking. There's a fracking geopolitical revival spreading around...

This is one for the books, Jerry. Really one for the books.

Well, here we are.

2009-09-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

Alright. If you were expecting a summary, then too bad. There has been too much stimuli for any one person to make sense of something like that, myself included. Therefore, in good character, I'm cutting out a considerable amount of the happenings to retain quality. Enough of you have experienced my return and PAX presence first-hand, and I have images coming to explain what you've missed of my travels.

I returned from Tokyo on Wednesday, September 2, two days behind schedule thanks to extra-tropical storm Krovanh. I can't even remember whether I slept or not, but that very evening I went about constructing my rig, wherein the definition of "construct" included trips to the hardware store and part- and piece-stripping a decommissioned server I took from work.

Unfortunately the chassis of the latter would not fit my desired motherboard, and I couldn't for the life of me pry away the CPU fan. She will live tonight! I kept telling myself. She must.

Yes, this was some down-right Frankenboxing. I had the brains, more or less. But I needed a body!

Or did I? ... Thinking outside the box--as any mad scientist with an interest in bad puns does--I decided to try something different, something new. Something... unconventional.

I decided to go caseless.

Meet Kismet. Form: very little. But function? Very yes.

Oh, and then there was this small yearly gathering a bunch of my friends and I attended the weekend of my return. We call it the Penny Arcade Expo, or PAX for short. I don't suppose you've heard of it, but I can refer you to accounts of this modest occasion.

I've also spent the last couple of weeks in a haze of people, meetups, and the longest work days of my life. So, it's been almost a month since I was in foreign lands.

I've been in psychological malaise. I imagine it began overseas, but I hadn't had time to stop and notice it then. For the past four weeks it's taken hold of me and grown over my optimism, like a weed that depletes its own soil to suffocate the plants around it.

I knew there was something wrong when I found myself laughing too hard at Curb Your Enthusiasm.

But seriously. People have been asking me, "Are you okay?" And I have been giving them a straight answer: no, I'm not okay. I really need people to understand that this is true. My malaise has manifested itself in unwelcome ways. And it's only over the last couple of days that I've become aware of those ugly manifestations, and begun to understand how I can change them.

To those who are considerate, I appreciate the concern. To those who are themselves, I thank you. I have a lot to say now, and the will to write again.

Well, here we go.

Bangalore wrap-up

2009-08-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

So I am overjoyed for two reasons:

1. For one week, starting tomorrow, we're being paired with another classmate to live with homestay families in a different part of Bangalore. I'm excited to be a part of the family and see the culture, class and gender dynamics in action. And because I'll get to help prepare meals, I'm going to bring back some spankin' culinary secrets! We were given snippets about our host family. I will be staying with Mrs. and Mr. Pratibha and Sunil Kumar and their two sons. Sunil runs an at-home software company while Pratibha, I'm told, traditionally likes to take her guests out, dress them up, and go shopping.

And...

2. I have one week and three days left in Bangalore!! Granted, it's unhealthy for me to fixate on this. I still want these last days to impress upon me. Plus, we're now meeting with another organization, the Environmental Support Group (ESG), which I am genuinely interested in. Today was our first day with them, and we learnt about their various campaigns and Bangalore's environmental and geographic history.

I'm still pretty weak from Hampi and haven't been doing much better mentally. I've been trying to reflect on the positives and what organizers here have said helps motivate them. I don't know when or if I'll be able to post before my flight back to Bangkok, so anticipate a break. I'll do the same. ;)

Hampi trip

2009-08-10T02:46:00.000-07:00

8/7 - 8:25 p.m. Not feeling well. My stomach's been off all day, and coincidentally so has every other in our group. There's no bathroom on this bus, and the fans aren't working. I'm burning up. I removed my shawl but still have to keep it draped across my chest for the buses level to us. They're playing some video in Kannada and Hindu music -- so much for a sleep. Amber, my roommate, is sharing her old iPod with me. We've been jamming to Mr. Mister and Guns 'N Roses while everyone else has been konked out.

10:45 p.m. It's taken us over an hour to escape the outskirts of Bangalore which, save the palm trees and shantytowns, sort of resembles a drive around the Washington peninsula. We just had our rest stop, a bit over two hours into this ride, with six or so hours ahead of us, and no more stops, according to the itinerary.

. . .
At some point I stopped trying to journal. One reason being that my handwriting came to mimic the off-road turbulence of the landscape, but namely because I became very, very sick. I won't go into details but, "No stops"? Yeah, that was some foreshadowing.

My classmates are asking me plainly, "So how was your trip?" This is not an easy question to answer. When evaluating the success of my trip, I have to divide my judgment in terms of the destinations, the itinerary, and my wellness throughout. Hampi itself was gorgeous, a vast historic beauty littered with bygone palaces and huge volcanic rocks that looked poised to topple the village below them. The people were kind, low-key ad sincere, and I would've loved to hang around for another day or two. Unfortunately our guide insisted on us moving at a discomforting pace. He seemed more concerned with having our attention every minute than us enjoying the artwork and scenery he was describing. Still feeling drained from the night before, with no sleep and very little in my stomach, I nevertheless managed to make the best of it.

Later in the evening my mates and I visited Tungabhadra Dam and the nearby park. We were surprised to see so many locals there (though only upon arrival did we learn the Tungabhandra River is considered sacred), but were soon made uneasy at becoming the main attraction. We've gotten used to people wanting to take our picture, shake our hands, and give us flowers -- I still kinda have problems with it, but it's harmless. On the other hand, being videotaped and laughed at, with fingers pointed at us... That crosses the line of decency for me. Made for contemplative, if agitated, conversation though.

The next day, we drove I don't know how many hours to Mantralayam, a town in Andhra Pradesh, the state neighbouring Karnataka. We were told a number of times about the holy temple there, and found out later that we would be spending eight hours in close proximity to the temple, the only point of interest in the whole town. Several times we tried to get into the temple... "No no, it closes at 2. Come back at 4." "The temple is closed now, you won't be able to get in until after 6." There was no obvious entry and no one seemed to know where we could wait or if we were supposed to pay.

Thus, bummed out and fed up, we forgot about the temple and became recluses on the patio floor of our hotel until the evening, when we walked to the river. That was certainly worth moving around for, as we got to see the sunset drop behind the glistening water and dark figures bathing. The bus ride back was much more restful.

Needless to say, this wasn't the departure it was supposed to be. It was dramatic, tiring, and at times rediculous. I am both excited and hesitant to return to the States, to Washington. This has been a scary, deep, healthy and eye-opening trip... and I believe there has been a paradigm shift. Significant chunks of thought and memory will probably be put on hiatus until after PAX, which makes the return all the more nerve-wracking. I'm even more thankful for the Tokyo finale now. I'm hoping it will help me deal with my world.

Train to Belgaum

2009-08-04T04:43:00.000-07:00

Incongruently excerpted from my journal...

8/2 - 9:53 p.m. Today was rather uneventful until now. My class and I are riding the night train from Bangalore to Belgaum, about a 10-hour ride. I'm laying down on my starchy whites under a green felt blanket, my feet propped up on my duffel bag (there's no room for it elsewhere). Most people are starting to do the same, but others are wide awake, probably hoping to exacerbate their night time energy for a rest mid-way.

It's very easy to fall asleep here, on the train and in India. Travel is exhausting, because it is so stimulating and manual. A walk to all your shopping areas, a rickshaw through bustling thoroughfares, a train through the desert. Even being so rudimentary, these systems of transportation are efficient and extraordinary. A friend told me there's a sort of cycle-bound carrier service in Mumbai that delivers office workers lunches from their wives using a very basic colour-coding system. They deliver all over the city and apparently have never had a complaint. I wonder if our postal service should take a tip.

I think I'm going to have to use the bathroom again before I sleep. The bathroom is simple, too. There's a hole and two raised steps on which to balance yourself as you squat. Where does the waste go? Well, we're riding over it right now.

I stood between two of the carriages and watched the little wedge of lights whizz by. This is a good analogy for what my brain is doing right now. I'm on a journey between spheres of knowledge, wherein my dispossession of each grows. My window on this journey is narrow, and although I know what I'm seeing has unfathomable depth, all I can do is stare at it hoping for small glimmers along the way.

I tried to take a picture, but it didn't turn out.

8/3 - 8:13 a.m. We're almost to our stop. A bit longer than I thought. The train made several stops during the night, and my bunkmate Kelly said she kept waking and worrying if any were ours. I feel incredibly well-rested, but it could be the intensely sweet chai I had. The daylight brought us a scenery of green grass, fields of grain, and lush low hillsides. A mist lazily hangs above them. I know it's still India because of the red sand. Whether from rainfall or natural richness, the ground is scattered with pools of water that mix with the soil, making its colour even more vibrant. It so resembles a rich chai or madras curry that you bet it would taste as good.

Around 12 p.m., we met with the Dalit feminist federation. I can't remember their name, but they represent 600 women from 29 villages, have been organizing movements for women's rights and empowerment since 1995, and are the very soul of grassroots. It's amazing what change open dialogue can bring. It was so enlightening and refreshing to hear their individual struggles and share our concerns for universal livelihood. The language barrier alone is intimidating, but once you get over that and really engage yourself, you see how willing others are to join you.

Namaste!

I know a lot of this is deep stuff (it is for me, anyway). Here's a link to my Picasa photo album for a more comprehensive depiction of my trip. :)

An inescapable nature

2009-08-02T03:38:00.000-07:00

As of tonight, it will have been a week since I arrived in Bangalore. Today I finally snapped. I found myself yelling at people in my head. Why are you honking at me? I'm the only one on the roadside and there's plenty of room to go around...

No, I don't need want to go shopping, I just want to walk.

Oh, so you only serve this page at lunch time. Then can I have this soup? ... Wait, only dosas? Okay, does a plain dosa have anything in it? No?? These are just fried bread! (This wasn't so silent a reaction, and I noticeably put off the other two I was having lunch with. :-/)

For a vegetarian population, South Indians barely get any vegetables in their diet. You either have to buy them raw at the market or go to the Punjabi or North Indian restaurants. Rice, bread, fried bread, fried rice: this covers 95% of all meals in Bangalore, with a little curd or chutney on the side. And chai, of course; it's impossible to find tea or coffee without milk. Fruit is easy to come by, though. There are fruit stands and juicers everywhere. I really want to assemble a press when I return so I can have fresh mango or pineapple juice for breakfast everyday.

My classmates seem to be enjoying this country more than I. I feel trapped, on so many levels. Bangalore is not the boomtown I'd imagined. Rhetoric aside, it truly is a developing nation, but I have a hard time imagining it "the Silicon Valley" it is oft touted as. What's really eating me is that I can't be myself here. My mere presence invites trouble. I have to be back at the dorm by 7 or 8 p.m. if I'm alone and want to preserve my safety. I can't make too much eye contact, not even to dismiss the cat-callers or stares. I have to think about what I'm wearing everyday, not based on style but on how much skin I'm showing or whether my curves are showing.

Living here as a woman, as a white Western woman, is exhausting, infuriating, and dehumanizing.

And yet for all the complaints I can conjure, I still have privileges, as a white Western woman. I may feel restricted, but I can buy whatever I like, take a rickshaw wherever I want and eat whatever I please. And I can always leave.

Heh, but I won't! Not for another three weeks. We've got a 10-hour train ride leaving tonight for Belgaum to attend a Dalit feminist federation meeting (Dalits are the lowest in the caste system; also called "the Untouchables"). This will be my first train ride, ever. I look forward to very little sleep.

Grrr!!

2009-07-31T06:12:00.000-07:00

So, the short of it is:

- This is the first length of time I've had to actually do more than Twitter.
- My camera started doing some wonky things in Bangkok, and now all of the pictures I took up to two days ago are gone.
- International computers are a bitch to access accounts on.

However, we have a free weekend, so I'll be on early "tomorrow" (late tonight for West Coasters). I should actually probably go soon, as it's... unsafe for me to be out in the evening here. (>.>)

I still don't know how I feel about this place. But I miss home.

A bit hazy, like the weather

2009-07-26T03:46:00.000-07:00

Apologies for being out of touch, guys. I've been running around Bangkok, trying to see the sights but mostly getting jipped and stranded and perfecting my haggling skills. I have learnt how little there is to do in this city, and I'm still unsure if it's a Bangkok thing or a function of third world metropolises. Bangkok's urban geography is comparable to Seattle's in some ways, though perhaps that's my subconscious homesickness. Weighing in at roughly 10 million (metro area), Bangkok's characteristic community districts and disjointed streets are more in the Seattle fashion. And for its size, Bangkok's sprawl is quite comfortable (as nondescript the term may be for my leisure here). It doesn't follow the model of Southeast Asian boomtowns like Singapore, Manila, and Bangalore, which is where you'll hear next from me.

There's a lot I have to say about my stay here, but unfortunately I don't have much time before my flight. My camera has been doing wonky things, but once I get the time to upload them to proper albums, I will be captioning my photos with details. Hopefully that'll be sooner than later.

If any of you have recommendations for photo galleries I should use, comment below -- I've got lots to show you all!

A day late and 400 Baht short

2009-07-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

I think this is the most awkward flight I've had to date. I made my aisle mate wait as I scurried to separate items from the carry-on I'd so haphazardly packed; two hours into our flight I have spoken barely a sentence to him trying to describe the water bottle that had rolled to the elderly and easily discomforted couple behind us; and upon receiving my "special meal," which I'd completely forgotten I'd ordered, I went ahead and unknowingly started lunch before everyone else around me. Not to mention that I've been torturing my tiny tank and keep catching this guy--

Of course, at that moment, my aisle mate interjected to ask if I was writing in Japanese, and we continued an effortful conversation about phonetics, faux pas, and our purposes at UW. His name is Hiraku, a speech pathologist with an adorable son and wife, who had been at a three-month workshop through the Center on Human Development and Disability (CHDD). We were each trying very hard to understand one another, and I like to think our mutual respect for language helped.

Doodles help, too.

Having foolishly packed my literature in my checked luggage, I didn't have much besides crosswords and phrasebooks. I am perplexed by the absence of a news radio station. I'd been listening to PRI religiously for the past week, falling asleep to the stream, keeping Winamp open to restart it in the morning after it had timed out. They have Boy George, The Watchmen movie*, and wheat berries in vegetarian meals, but they can't fit a little Times or CNN in there?

One thing I really wanted to do in Tokyo was attend a sumo match. From research, however, I learnt that no matches were going to be held during my stay in the city except, by chance, during the three hours I would be at Narita Airport on my way to Bangkok. Some of you doubted me...

Haha!

There was a lot of turbulence coming into Bangkok, and it was the first time I'd seen lightning from a plane. An entire district lost power as we were flying over it, but their generator immediately kicked in, just like a cartoon: flip off - flip on. It was a bit of a hassle getting to my hostel, but with a few broken words I made it to Sukhumvit Soi 1 Guesthouse. Turns out I owed more than I'd brought with me, but the desk manager was really great and said, "Give her her money back, she can pay in the morning. She might want something to eat."

After an 18-hour ride, sleep was all I wanted. To bed, I said. Adventures in the morning.

* Nope, still haven't seen it.